


Tea and Consensual Reality

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: AU, Drama, M/M, Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 08:11:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/795876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair has tea with  Jim's new police partner about the definition of reality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tea and Consensual Reality

## Tea and Consensual Reality

by Dana

In "The Waiting Room", Jim doesn't argue when Blair brings up the possibility of mental illness. Jim saying he is crazy for putting up with Blair is almost admitting that he had known he was mentally ill all along. Well, for Jim, it is. By the end of the episode, Jim's hallucinations are explained away by peyote. Nevertheless, it is canon that Jim sees his panther and asks Incacha for advice. Read the story and feed the muse.

This story is a sequel to: Halloween 

* * *

Blair opened the door to the townhouse after Robin knocked. "Please, come in. Would you like some tea?" Blair hurried back to the kitchen; he was cooking soup and hadn't finished seasoning it, a delicate process. Jim couldn't tolerate too much seasoning but hated bland food. Jim had called to say that he would be home late tonight after finishing some paperwork. 

After looking around the living room a moment eyeing the artfully placed artifacts, Detective Robin Whittier, Jim's new partner, sat down on the overly plush yellow and green fabric covered sofa. "Maybe, later." 

Blair returned to the living room with a cup of tea in his hand. "You don't normally visit during working hours. Robin, what's the problem?" Blair sat on the sofa beside her and sipped his tea; he usually had office hours late on Wednesday. No students were there the first two hours so he skipped out on the third. He had spent an extra two hours in the office the previous day missing dinner. Why did she drive out here when he wasn't likely to be home? 

"I can't have a partner that spaces out." Robin stretched her legs in front of her staring at her fairly worn inexpensive tennis shoes. Although Robin's jeans looked fairly new, she didn't look dressed well enough to be representing the police force, but Blair couldn't place what was unkempt about her. As Robin took off her blazer, Blair could see that Robin's silk blouse was soaked in sweat, which was odd for a cold November day. 

"We call them zone-outs." Blair took another sip of his tea and walked to the kitchen to low the soup to a simmer. 

"Overstims," said Robin as she stepped behind Blair. "I know autistic behavior when I see it. My nephew has autism." 

"Can you bring Jim out?" Blair turned down the soup, stirred it and tasted the broth of his pea soup; the seasoning was fine, strong enough that it well seasoned but not enough that Jim had to turn down his senses to eat it. 

"In a minute or two," said Robin. "Maybe, I'll have that tea." 

Blair put the kettle back on the burner and took a mug off the shelf. "I have green, black and three types of herbal; chamomile, spearmint and cinnamon-apple." 

"Cinnamon-apple," said Robin. 

Blair took a tea bag from the Celestial Seasonings box. "The water should be ready in a moment." 

"Where did you learn to speak Spanish? Officer Rodriquez thought you were a native speaker." 

"I took two years in school. I've also done fieldwork in Central and South America. I don't consider myself that good at languages. I forgot all the Hebrew I learned a week after my Bar Mitzvah. Don't get me wrong. I was interested in Jewish culture. I take something away from all cultures I learn about, but at thirteen, I was more interested in partying with my friends." Blair sipped the rest of his tea. "What brings you here?" 

Robin poured the hot water over her tea bag. "I need my partner to be able to guard my back." 

Blair walked into the kitchen with his empty mug and refilled it. "Has Jim ever failed to guard your back?" Blair turned off the kettle. 

"No, the last time he zoned out was when we were gathering evidence at a crime scene." 

"Then what's your problem?" 

"I don't like having a partner with autistic episodes. Jim said when we started working together that he didn't have an episode for nearly three months. He had two in the last week alone." 

"You should talk to him about this." Blair stirred the soup a moment and set the timer for twenty minutes. 

"When I try to talk to him, he gives me attitude." 

"I'll talk to him tonight." After disposing of the tea bag, Blair took a cautious sip of tea from the hot mug. 

Robin sat on a kitchen chair with her tea and took a sip. "Blair, I just want you tell you that I'm impressed with your rescuing that girl at the Day of the Dead parade." 

"I did nothing." Blair took his tea from counter and sat beside her at the table. 

"The street was crowded with partiers. You went out of your way to help a stranger." 

"It's all my police training. Jim pointed the way and I ran." 

"Police training or not." Robin put her cup down. 

"I feel bad for Jim. He's new to the city. San Francisco has a large gay population. However, his SO being known as a drag queen to the other police officers can't be easy on him," Blair said. "The funny thing is I never wore a dress before and I'm not likely to wear one, again." 

"That's not what Rodriguez said." 

"Personally, I don't care what they think, but I know that it makes a difference to Jim. If they don't respect him, back up might never come. I have heard stories from gay cops while researching my textbook. It's going to an uphill battle to get Jim to go a gay pride march. I would like him to march with other gay veterans if he won't march with his fellow officers." 

"I can't help you with that." 

"Robin, he needs to know that he isn't in this alone. In Cascade, gay and lesbian rights' advocates came up to us for interviews and Jim always chased them away. I spoke to one gentleman after the dissertation fiasco about our situation; he listened and told me he was there to support my right to go to the police academy and if I was harassed in anyway to call him." 

"Why then?" 

"The press reported that I was so infatuated with my partner that I made him into a superhero. Jim's father hated me and called everyday to tell me to leave his son alone. There're good people out there if Jim needs support. I'm thankful to the people that helped me when I needed it." 

"I can't make Jim network." 

"There're cops that been on the SFPD for twenty years and know the ropes. You could help him meet a few veterans that might remember what they went through when they just started out." 

"Jim isn't a rookie." 

"He's new to the city. To many old timers, that makes him a rookie. Jim has always been a loner. He won't ask for help. Help him make contacts in the department. It could save both your lives." 

"I know that game. I'm not a member of the club either. If you haven't noticed, I'm a woman, half-Indian, and not Christian." 

"You know the ropes. I wasn't a member of the club, but I played the game. I owed officers favors; they owed me. I tried to keep it that it paid for them to have scrawny, little Sandburg on their side. You should have seen the shit that I pulled then; I knew going in that I was going to be looked down on for getting into the academy through the backdoor and being smarter than 99% of the other cadets there. Quite a few didn't let me live it down that I was a fraud; I had to prove myself time and time again." 

"I thought you won your case with publishing company." 

"We did. The money help pay off my student loans and got me a new vehicle; I love classic cars but the Volvo had seen better days. Although Jim could afford a better car, he likes the old truck and we didn't feel like spending all the settlement on his car insurance. If you include my Convair, the motor pool vehicles, and a car that he borrowed from a civilian that man totaled eight cars in three years," Blair said. "I'm surprised Dawkins lets him drive." 

"I drive on duty; you should hear the complaining that man does. He can be such a baby. Dawkins says he can drive again when he doesn't have an accident for a year until then I have the keys to the motor pool." 

"He has to go places without you." 

"Of course, but Dawkins won't let him near the motor pool. It's embarrassing to be seen near Ellison's truck." Jim's truck was rusted all over, had more pings than smooth surface and the paint was missing on over a third of the body. "You don't let him near your shiny new car." 

"Not a chance. Jim doesn't like to sit in the passenger seat so we take the truck everywhere," Blair said. "We were talking about Jim needing to network, not the wreck that he drives. He hasn't had an accident in two years. If he makes it through this year without a wreck, he promises me that he'll get a new truck." Blair took a long sip of tea. "Back to networking, I made myself valuable to the other officers, helping them with their paperwork, repairing software, and bringing in home cooked meals, whatever it took. A little kindness goes a long way." 

"You were a brown noser," Robin said. 

"The best. I didn't have much choice. Simon thought I was Ellison's boyfriend from the moment I got that observer's pass. I wasn't going to change their opinion of me, so I used it the best I could. No one said a bad thing about me; back up was always there. I was known as phone boy among other things. Everyone in Major Crimes knew that Sandburg was the man to turn to if they needed help with anything. I made myself indispensable." Blair took a long sip of tea. "Ellison wouldn't let me out of his sight. He was always trying to keep a leash on me. The other guys in the department would always be trying to borrow me to help solve their cases and Jim would pull me away like I was his possession. Man, it was fun. Shit, I thought I would hate the academy, but even that was a blast." 

"I know how to keep my nose to grindstone and out of other people's way. Jim acts like he needs no one; you aren't going to change that. I can see why you were a good team. Blair, you have a way of bringing attention to yourself. You dance into the office with your long hair, earrings and bubbly personality." 

"Jim calls me the Energizer Bunny. I have been told that people either love me or hate me the moment they meet me." He sipped his hot tea. "Jim rather throw around one liners than say anything deep or meaningful. He's got all these defenses, man; doesn't let any one in. When I told him the veil between the worlds is thinnest on Samhain, All Hallow's Eve or any other name for the 31st of October, he laughed at me, and he's the one with the visions." 

"Jim has visions?" 

"He's supposed to talk to me about them." Blair took another sip of tea and tried not to raise his voice. "I can't guide him if he doesn't let me." 

"You believe in visions and spirits crossing the veil. I know Jim is a bit out there, but I thought you were sane." 

"Sanity according to Dr. Harry Sullivan is consensual reality. If I see a chair and you see a chair, we're both sane," Blair said. "Jim and I both experienced the same vision. We have consensus. Even though Jim's visions can be seen as schizophrenic hallucinations, I still need to understand them because they tell me of his mental processes." 

"This is a bit much for me." 

"I've always been into mysticism and meditation. Animal guides and vision quests aren't that big of leap for me." Blair drank more of his tea. "Mind if I heat some more water." 

"Go right ahead." 

Blair filled the teakettle with more water then put it on the stove; he stirred his soup. Ten more minutes were on the timer. "I only met one other sentinel, and her visions came out through her artwork. Consensus, again." 

"Back to reality." Robin held her mug with both hands. 

"Robin, TV shows and movies present that if the visions or voices are caused by spirits than the person isn't crazy," Blair explained going into teacher mode. "I'm an anthropologist. In primitive cultures, someone like Jim would be labeled as touched by the gods. We see visions as something to be cured by medication." 

Robin shifted in her seat. "My partner is touched by the gods." 

"Heightened senses are correlated to mental disorders. I learned that while doing sentinel research. Jim was diagnosed the day I met him." 

"Why didn't you tell me he was schizophrenic when you took me to the park for sentinel/guide lessons?" 

"Because you wouldn't have seen past Jim's mental illness. Jim's heightened senses give him an advantage with police work." 

"So Jim has visions and I'm to accept that and move on. So under all the Sandburg bullshit, he does have autistic episodes." 

Blair slammed his teacup nearly breaking it. "Does it make you feel better that Robin Whittier was right all along?" The teacher could give her a gold star. 99 percent of the time Jim coped with reality adequately. Why was that other one percent that important to Robin? 

"How do I keep Jim from zoning out?" 

"Don't let him concentrate too deeply on one sense. I have him piggyback sight on hearing or hearing on smell." Blair finished his second cup of herbal tea. "Get him to refocus before the zone-out occurs." 

Robin drank the rest of her tea. "You don't really believe that mystical stuff." 

"I have to." Blair stared at the stove then at the teakettle. He, finally, put a teabag and cold water into a clean mug, put it into the microwave, and pushed the buttons. "When Jim found me at the fountain, I was cyanic, as blue as the water. The doctors claim I was dead for over five minutes. The paramedics, people who are taught that everyone is alive until announced DOA, took one look at me and said pine box." 

"You shouldn't joke about such things," said Robin. 

"Life is pretty funny after being dead. Don't get me wrong; I'm happy to be alive." Blair took the hot mug from the microwave with a potholder. "I was only twenty-nine when I died. I had places to go, things to do, people to see, books to write. Thanks to Jim, I'll get that chance, but I don't fear death; it isn't an unknown to me." 

"What does this have to do with Jim's visions?" 

Blair checked his mug: it was cool enough to touch. He blew on his tea and used a spoon to remove the teabag. "Jim's animal spirit crossed to the other side to fetch my animal spirit. That means there is another side. By all rights, I shouldn't be here." 

"I don't think I'm able to make that mental leap." 

"That's my job. You're a cop. I'm the shaman. Modern society doesn't allow for visions. Were Joan of Arc's visions a mere symptom of insanity? People like Jim see things other people don't." 

"Because they aren't real!" 

"That is a value judgment our society makes." Blair finally sipped his tea. "You enjoy Hamlet. Shakespeare portrayed Hamlet as having a psychotic break; however, the ghost of his father was real. Who died and made Robin Whittier God?" 

Robin's face turned bright, clutched her fists, and bit down on her lip. As a Moslem, taking God's name in vain was one of the worst sins you could do. Blair didn't practice any organized religion and treated all religions as equal. He was trying to say to say just because someone was insane that didn't mean that his visions didn't have merit. 

Blair said, "I'll talk to him tonight about his zone outs." 

"Thanks," said Robin. "How can you talk about dying like it was a walk in the park?" 

"You watch Oprah or listen to someone else talk of their near death experience." Blair returned to stirring his soup. "They all talk about their experience with great joy. Drowning is painful. Death is the end to pain. Jim brought me back to pain. I remember coughing up water in my lungs. I never really talked about this before. People don't like talking about such things. It makes people too aware of their own mortality." 

Robin got up from the table to pace. "My husband is very old country in his beliefs. I'm more agnostic. I deal with death on a daily basis; that doesn't mean I can face my own." 

"I've been dead. I don't remember the other side very clearly, but I remember running free, a joyous type of freedom. I hate that I can't thank Jim for being me back. I've thanked Jim for many other things, but the dead don't want to rejoin the living." Blair now could thank Jim because he was happy because he was alive, but he couldn't have thanked him for the deed. Blair had thanked Jim for risking his life and career many times for his sake. "I asked him to promise not to bring me back, again. He won't give his word." 

"Can you blame him?" 

"He doesn't understand. If I thanked him for returning me to the living, he would know I was lying. I've called the man a human polygraph." 

"You're a shaman. What does that mean?" 

"I'm a teacher which I am. It means as little or as much as I let it. You tell me Jim's problems and I'll talk to him. Blair Sandburg, shaman and mystic, available for tea and spiritual guidance. Call me anytime day or night." 

"I'm a wife, mother and police detective. This is a bit much for me. My biggest worry is balancing family and work." 

"I hope we can be friends. I've always had more female friends than male ones, maybe, because I'm into animal rights and the environment. I started college at sixteen. Eighteen-year-old women don't fuck sixteen-year-old boys. I've always been everyone's little brother or confidant." 

Robin hugged him. "You're still cute." 

"I'm over thirty now. It wasn't endearing at sixteen. It meant another girl I wasn't going to fuck." 

"My daughter is fourteen. I couldn't see her going to college in two years. She's still my baby. She is into rap music and dressing in clothes three sizes too large that fall down her butt. She looks like a boy. I don't remember the last time I saw her in a dress." 

"Next year she will be exposing her navel." 

Robin winced. "As long as she doesn't get it pierced." 

"She's covering up. Don't complain." 

"I don't understand her." 

"Don't understand her." Blair finished his third mug of tea. That was enough tea for one day; water the rest of the day. "Love her. Naomi always wanted to be my friend. I needed a mother. I grew up without disciple." The bell rang for the soup. It was simmering. Pea soup could cook for an hour as long as there was enough liquid. Blair added more water to the soup and stirred it. It was starting to smell good. 

"I feel like I disciple them too much and then I'm not home. Then I buy too many gifts." 

"They know you love them. My mother may be an overgrown child herself, but I grew up with love. What's your other child like?" 

"Scotty is ten. He thinks his sister is crazy." Robin couldn't believe she said crazy. _Don't edit yourself._ "He's into Little League. He complains when a friend's mom drives him to the field because I'm working late, again. I tell myself that I should spend more time with them then something comes up at work." 

"Enjoy them when they are young. I'm an only child. Naomi claims she is too young for grandchildren." 

"But you know better." 

Blair shrugged his shoulders. "She took to Jim right away. I found them in bed together looking at my baby pictures. She's a worse flirt than I am." 

"It's nice talking to an adult about something other than work or what's on TV. I wish my daughter were more into sports or fashion. She lies around the house, listening to people shouting in rhyme, and thinks that's music." 

"She'll be interested in boys soon enough." 

"When were you interested in boys?" 

Blair folded his hands then looked at Robin from across the table. "Twenty-six." Shit, why did he say that? She was going to think he was a virgin until he met Jim. Blair wondered how people saw him. Was he that cute little faigelah that everyone saw bouncing through the campus or was it just a shtik that he used to protect himself? He had smiled when other kids asked him if he ground down his horns. He was small, Jewish and always the new kid. Sandburg had learned to act like nothing ever bothered him. 

Robin's mouth flew open and her hands grabbed the table edge. "Jim is your first. Scotty likes girls or did until he learned that wasn't cool. He now likes baseball cards and sports." 

Blair put the empty mugs in the sink. "Everyone thinks Blair has all this experience. I'd like to meet this person because I wasn't getting any. I had girl friends, emphasis on the friend part. Because I came home from dates with female odors on me, Jim believed I was straight and didn't approach me. I couldn't do more than show him the same level of affection he gave me. What if I caused him to go into a catatonic state? I always bring him out of zone-outs. He looks at a painting too long-" 

Robin interrupted, "The zone-out happened after he found a needle mark the forensic team missed. I think he was looking for other marks then he wasn't there." 

"That is when you need to put a hand on his back or talk to him." Blair turned off the stove and put a lid on the soup. "If Jim is doing a visual sweep of an object or a room, add voice or touch. Listening for something, touch or sight. You have to distract him. I know that goes against everything you've been taught. Ignore all those times, your mother told you to be quiet while she was on the phone. If Jim focuses too long with any one sense, he zones out." 

"If Jim get too engrossed in something, I should distract him." 

"In a gentle way, a calm voice and soft touch. You don't want him to bite your head off. Jim has a temper." 

"How do I know what sense he is over-extending?" 

"I always put a hand on his back when we enter a crime scene. The first senses that hit you when you enter a strange place are sight and smell. Some chemicals have no smell and still cause a reaction to Jim's bare skin, but that is rare. Also it is time to call Hazmat." 

"You miss taking care of Jim." 

"We need the time apart. Jim claims he can't sleep without my heartbeat. He pleaded with me to come home after the drowning. My doctor wasn't too thrilled, but I didn't care too much for being a medical miracle. Home looked awful inviting." 

"I distract him, so he never gets the opportunity to overstimulate himself." 

"By George, I think she's got it," Blair exclaimed stealing a line from My Fair Lady. "Do you still want me to talk to him tonight?" 

"Your choice," said Robin. "Thanks for the tea. I left Jim with all the paperwork from last night's bust. He's probably pulling out his hair." 

"Considering how little hair he has." 

"I better help him out. He hates doing paperwork alone. I wish you could come upstairs and sit with him but after 9/11 family members aren't allowed in restricted areas." 

"I have an observer's pass until I finish my textbook. You were there when Captain Dawkins signed the paperwork. Would you like me sit with him?" 

"Grab your sweater. I take you to the precinct. Then, I need to visit with my children. My husband just got a new job and he is working long hours." 

Blair poured the soup into a storage container and sealed the lid tightly. He grabbed plastic spoons and put the soup and the spoon into a bag. Blair pick up the fresh bread that he had brought at the bread store across the street from the faculty parking lot (Not exactly across the street, it was over a field and down the road a bit but it wasn't a long walk.) and put that in the bag with the soup. "I know the routine." Blair put on his jacket; it wasn't as cold as Cascade but it was mid-November. Blair was looking forward to the winter break; he could use three weeks with nothing to do but write lesson plans for the following semester and meetings with other professors. 

"He was unemployed for two years. The children and I were used to him being home all the time. Now, he is working ten to fourteen hours' days. I don't mean to complain; it's just that the children aren't use to being alone," Robin said. 

"Robin, see your children. I'll look after Jim. I don't want Captain Dawkins sending him home because he's throwing a temper tantrum." Blair opened the door and led her to the parking lot in front of their townhouse. 

"You poor thing." 

"I lived with him over five years." Blair sat down in the passenger seat on Robin's station wagon. "I don't know why I put up with half the nonsense that I do and he claims that I'm high maintenance." 

"You must be a saint. You were kidding when you said that you didn't notice boys until you were twenty-six." Robin pulled out of the space and started out to the precinct. 

"No, joke. I called Jim my Holy Grail; I needed him in my life." 

"You seemed so flamboyant." Robin blushed she didn't mean to say that, but Blair came off as one of those happy-go-lucky queens that seemed all too common in San Francisco. Robin could believe that she was falling for a stereotype especially since Blair didn't meet any stereotypes; he was definitely one of a kind. 

"I flirted with half the women at the station before I realized that none of them would date me because I had property of James Ellison stamped on my behind," Blair said. "Shit, I flirted with them afterwards; they would smile and that was all I needed. Jim says that I'm beautiful all the time but I still see that nerdy, little boy with glasses." 

"I'm sure you were adorable child." 

"Science nerd; stole a microscope when I was twelve." Blair flashed his observer pass and the downstairs' office call Captain Dawkins's office and his secretary told the front desk that Blair could be allowed upstairs. Robin waved and return to her car that was illegal parked at the curbside. Blair went to the elevator, and then walked into the homicide department. The secretary must have left after telling the front desk that it was all right for Dr. Sandburg to go up. Detective Ellison's desk looked like it did in Cascade. Two other detectives were drinking coffee and talking while doing their paperwork. "Sandburg, it's nice to see you," one of the two other detectives shouted across the room. Blair would have been more self-conscious if the man shouted his given name; at least, the use of the last name showed him to be part of their close society even if he was only sitting on the edge. 

"Whittier dropped me off. She was concerned about you. I brought you homemade soup and bread." Blair placed the bag on Robin's unoccupied desk. 

"I have a mound of paperwork and the heater is on full blast." Ellison wiped the sweat off his face. His shirt was open showing a sweat covered athletic shirt and a body that had lost much of its muscle tone since arriving in San Francisco. Jim's arms and chest were still solid but a layer of fat was start to form over the hard muscles giving Jim an older, more average American look about him. Blair doubted that Jim had used the gym more than once since arriving in San Francisco and he didn't chase bad guys; he talked to suspects and witnesses after the fact and collected evidence. It wasn't a cushy desk job, but it was closer than Jim liked. 

"I shouldn't help you with it. I'm only supposed to visit to collect anecdotes and leave." Blair leaned over his shoulder. 

"Pull up a chair. Why did Robin visit?" 

"She says that you're zoning out." 

"I miss you. She isn't my guide. I can't do this without you." Jim filled out the information on the forms that he had collected from his notepad. 

"Yes, you can. Jim, do you want to work on this at home or do you want us to talk about it in the break room?" Blair pulled up an empty chair to the side of Detective Ellison's desk. "You should eat before the soup is ice cold." 

"I haven't told Captain Dawkins that I have enhanced senses. He teases me that if I wasn't a good detective that he wouldn't put up with my nonsense. He wonders how Captain Banks tolerated me as long as he did." 

"When you got in one of your moods, Simon sent you home." 

"I miss having you as my partner." Jim put his hand on Blair's arm. 

"Do you want tell him?" Blair kissed his neck. 

"If I tell him, he'll want verification and we've done enough testing, thank you. You'll make Brown and Wilcox jealous," Jim said as he filled out the next form. 

"Brown?" 

A man with cropped brown hair waved. "Stuart Brown, I was transferred from Narcotics." 

"Blair Sandburg. I spent five years on Cascade PD before Ellison and I moved to San Francisco." Blair turned toward the tired looking detective in an unbuttoned flannel shirt exposing his sweat-covered white t-shirt. "We had a Brown in our department in Cascade, but he was more brown." 

"It's a common name," Brown said. "Visitors aren't permitted up here, police experience or not." 

"I have it cleared with the captain," Sandburg said looking Brown over. His too tight jeans brought attention to his spare tire but then again Ellison wasn't spending as much time in the gym since their move and had developed a good size roll himself. "I'm writing a book on police work and Captain Dawkins wants his anecdotes included. Do you have any good anecdotes that I could use in a textbook?" Sandburg smiled at the fat, out of shape cop. 

"Ellison shouldn't have special privileges because his boyfriend used to be a cop," Brown said. "No one else gets to invite their girlfriend or wife up here at the end of a long day." 

Ellison put a light hand on Sandburg's back. "Brown, if your girl was writing a book on police work, she might get to visit too. Baby, I glad that Whittier convinced you to visit. It goes faster with you here." 

"I can only visit because I have a 90-day observer pass. I don't think Dawkins will extend it like Banks did." 

"Probably not. You got it September 18th. That give you until mid-December." 

"I hope that I finish the textbook by then." 

"How is it going?" 

"I'm waiting for Holdeman to read the last two chapters that I gave him. I sat in my office waiting two hours for his visit, but he didn't call to cancel. I finished working on it except for proofreading it. How many times can I go through it looking for misspellings and wrong word use? I'll call Holdeman in the morning." 

"It must try your patience." 

"It's my first textbook. Thousands of students will read my name on it." And forget it. Sandburg stripped down to one shirt; the heater must have been set on 80 or higher. He put the two flannels shirts on the closest unoccupied chair. At least, if he was going to sit around in only a t-shirt and jeans, his stomach didn't roll over the top of his jeans like the other three men in the room. "Ellison, can't you fix the heat." 

"The heat is controlled in the basement. We bitched all day about it being a furnace in here. They kept telling us that they were working on it," Jim said. 

"I couldn't get near the department until the 18th. Captain Dawkins had to answer all my questions over the phone for a week; it was a pain in the ass. It was crazy; it isn't like I became a terrorist overnight." 

"I don't make the rules. I wish you would go back to police work." 

"They don't let domestic partners work together. If I go back to police work, I will be assigned to another department and we'll only see each other during lunch. I can enter this in the computer for you. Just point me to an empty terminal." Blair picked up a few of the completed forms. 

"I don't think you should do that. You're observing us for notes for your textbook; you don't have authority to use the computers." Jim looked at Blair as he sat down at Whittier's desk. 

"You know that I type faster than you. What Dawkins doesn't know won't hurt him?" Blair cleared a small spot in the mess of opened files and loose paperwork that covered Robin Whittier's desk. 

"I won't tell Dawkins if you enter a few of mine," Brown said. 

"How fast does your boyfriend type?" Wilcox asked as Blair fingers flew over the keyboard as he entered the information on the rap sheets. 

"He isn't up here as a favor to you," Ellison snarled. 

"I don't mind," Blair said. "I was an unpaid observer for three years in Cascade. What is two hours of unpaid labor?" 

"Three years. Are you a glutton for punishment?" Wilcox asked. 

"I was doing research. I thought Jim was a sentinel; I had this wild fantasy," Blair said as he typed. "It was a big mistake; nearly lost Jim his life and ruined my career. I'm past researching myths and writing a book on the moral decisions police officers face everyday." 

"Did you good work for the force?" Brown asked. 

"His work got me officer of year three years in a roll," Ellison said. "Sandburg might be little, but he's tough. I'd put him up against half the guys in the department." 

"Being a detective isn't all brawn." Sandburg continued typing. 

"What? That little pansy can't be more than one-fifty soaking wet," Wilcox said. 

"I don't live off of donuts and French fries," Sandburg said. "I know you guys you spend half the morning in Dunkin Donuts." 

"I'll get order some Chinese. Sandburg, what will you have?" Wilcox asked. 

"I'll skip. I brought up some soup and fresh bread," Sandburg said. 

"Are you eating your steaks when he's not home?" Brown asked Ellison. 

"Tofu isn't that bad," Ellison said. "I don't mind many fake meat products. You just have to be willing to try them and know that they aren't going to taste like dead animals." 

"Then he goes out for Wonderburgers." Sandburg stopped typing and walked over to the Ellison and tapped the belly that hanged over his loose jeans. "He didn't get that roll from eating only tofu." 

"I eat what you make. There's only so many way to make tofu," Ellison said. 

"Then, you eat a half dozen donuts," Sandburg said. 

"There is nothing to eat in our house," Ellison said. "I buy junk food and it's gone overnight." 

"I tell you to take it to the station. I'm not responsible for what happens to it here," Sandburg said. "The man thinks three Snickers bars are a healthy breakfast. You're approaching forty; the abuse you do to your body was bound to show up in your waistline." 

"Ellison, do you want anything?" Wilcox asked. 

"I'm fine," Ellison said as Wilcox walked to the door. 

"Invite him over for the game, Sunday. Sandburg, you're out of luck; I'm not cooking any tofu," Brown said. "Ellison, did you take pictures Halloween?" 

"I should have." Ellison opened the bag and started eating the food Sandburg brought. 

"I have enough trouble living that down without pictures," Sandburg said. "Rodriguez thought I was some eighteen year old Hispanic kid." 

"Ellison told him that you were a thirty-something Jewish professor," Brown said. 

"Something like that," Ellison said. 

"You never dressed in drag for the department in Cascade?" Brown asked. 

Sandburg continued to type, ignoring the question. He had managed to worm his way out of it especially after a third woman had joined Major Crimes the same time he finished the academy. Simon had begged Blair to dress in drag for a charity ball because he didn't think Jim could be convincing with one of the ladies and Simon really needed Jim's senses for the case, but even then he wormed his way out of it saying that the mayor knew Jim and Blair as a gay couple. Jim had said, "I'm the first openly gay Cop of the Year. The mayor isn't likely to forget that." Simon's face dropped, Megan and Joel twisted Simon's arm about it and Blair didn't don a dress. 

"I did once," Ellison said. "There was this case where the guy was mugging badly dressed drag queens. It was before I met Sandburg." 

"I'm sorry I missed it." Sandburg had to stop typing due to laughing. As soon as he gained his composure, he returned to the forms. 

"It was embarrassing," Ellison said. "I don't have your legs." 

"I like your legs." Sandburg focused on his typing as he heard the two other detectives return to typing on their keyboards. For Jim's ears, he whispered, "especially around me." 

"Rafe and Henri whistled at me like I was some fashion model," said Jim. "I was still married to Carolyn. They made gay jokes, not knowing I'm bi." 

Wilcox said, "Bi is another word for I don't want to admit I'm gay." 

Jim clenched his jaw. "Before settling down with Sandburg, I dated mostly men, but I did date a fair share of women. Carolyn and I were together nearly three years before I ruined a perfectly good relationship by getting married." 

Wilcox returned his eyes to his typing. "Whatever you say." 

"There was a bit of fuss when Ellison was the first openly gay Cop of the Year in Cascade. When he was presented the award, he insisted that I walk up there with him then said that the award was as much mine as his. That doesn't sound like someone in denial," Sandburg stated looking up from his typing. 

Wilcox yawned as to say big deal. 

"Washington isn't exactly a gay friendly state. Putting his arm around me in front of the mayor and commissioner took guts," Sandburg continued. "When we made the front page, Captain Banks wouldn't tell the press anything about our relationship." 

"Yeah, all he said that Detective Ellison and Blair Sandburg shared the same resident and nothing else was public record," Ellison said. "I own Simon a lot." 

"That wouldn't even make press in San Francisco," Wilcox said. 

"No one would bat an eyelash," Ellison said. "In Cascade, I was dodging phone calls. My father was calling me on the daily basis wanting answers for how I could embarrass him like I put my arms around Sandburg in the photo shoot just to embarrass the old man." 

"Ellison, let's talk in the break room." Blair put his hand on Jim's shoulder. 

"I don't want to talk about it here," Ellison said. 

"We'll talk on the way home." 

"I have one more form to complete and I'm yours. Thanks for the grub." 

"Wilcox, Brown, you'll have to borrow me another day. I only teach a morning class Friday. I can help you boys out then," Sandburg said. 

"Have Charlene buzz you in," Wilcox said. 

Sandburg followed Ellison to the garage. "You aren't doing paperwork for my co-workers," Ellison said as he opened the truck's doors. 

"I have nothing else to do Friday," Sandburg said. "Of course, you can tell what is troubling you." 

"You drive a hard bargain. You aren't brown-nosing your way into my department," Ellison said. "Whittier is all ready going to our townhouse for advice. Soon the other guys will be calling for your advice." 

"You know if I start doing paperwork for the boys; they will buzz me in long after my pass expires," Sandburg said. 

"You fight dirty." 

"Baby, tell me what is troubling you." Blair leaned against Jim as Jim started the truck. 

"I'm used to working with you. I don't feel comfortable letting another man's wife touch me. I can't let her into my space. I feel edgy all the time." 

"Talk to her." 

"You are my guide; your voice is special. No one else can direct me." 

"I can't be with you all the time. If you won't let Robin in, you'll have to be confined to deskwork. Considering the problem with the heater, I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy." 

"It feels intimate when someone prevents me from zoning. I felt that with you the moment that I threw you against the wall in your office. I can't give Detective Whittier that," Jim said as he pulled out of the parking garage. 

"I'm not asking you to take her as a guide. I just want you to trust her like you did Simon and Joel when I was at school or injured." 

"I focus on your heartbeat, your voice, your smell. I don't even realize that I'm doing it. Your presence alone keeps me from zoning." 

"Her heartbeat, voice and smell must be familiar to you." 

"It doesn't make me feel the way yours does." 

"I hope not." Blair put his hand on Jim's arm. 

"I'm afraid that if I start to focus on her smell, the sound of her voice that I'll lose our special bond." 

"That will never happen." 

"I don't want to ruin the chemistry between us." 

"Allow Robin to guide you." Blair stroked Jim's thigh when they stopped for a light. 

* * *

End Tea and Consensual Reality by Dana: rochelle@mitchellware.com

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Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


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